Deception. Betrayal. Mistrust.
It seems the closer Rayne gets to the truth, the more she finds herself wanting to run away from it. It's complex and terrifying-more than she ever fathomed.
New family members, good and bad, pop out at her like a br...
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𝗪ith her hand pressed to the glass, Blake beheld the room she'd avoided each time she walked the halls of this hospital. The density of the window cooled her inner bearings the longer she gazed past the wire-infused structure and into the place a part of her lived.
The longer her fingers lay splayed across the glassy flesh, the easier her breaths became easy-flowing rivers instead of the prickle bushes that tended to follow her everywhere. Countless hands and feet filled with ten fingers and toes passed through the corneas of her chocolate eyes, and in return, the concerns of the past filtered out like water down a drain.
Six tiny boxes filled with little forms of love.
And Blake had no idea which one was hers.
Many would call her a bad mother for walking away from the human she had the sole responsibility of bringing into the world—and some would be right. She had chosen to step away for weeks upon weeks, never checking in on her child, never asking, not even walking on the NICU floor since she'd given birth. And most mothers would crucify her.
And they'd be right.
But for once in her life, she didn't care about the thoughts of others. She didn't care that people judged her from their shiny silver spoons and ivory towers when she'd spent those weeks righting herself so her child would never have to do it for her. So her child would have a parent and not a battered young adult with no qualms about what it meant to live.
She wasn't capable of being a mother then—of being Blake. She couldn't face Emiko and had hardly spoken to Mason, who had also yet to visit for similar reasons of his own.
So if anyone wanted to blame them for that, if anyone wanted to ignore their smart justifications, then they could go dig a grave and bury themselves in it until someone who cared decided to show up.
"How're you feeling?"
Blake pulled her eyes away from the plastic boxes and met the eyes of her girlfriend, sweetened to see how the yellow pull-over scrub and shoe caps suited her and brought the color of her hair out. A mask concealed the majority of her face, but from the crinkle in the corner of her eyes, she could see the love, the happiness, the utter brilliance staring back at her.
She could see the awe—the pride—in knowing that after weeks of looking after and visiting her kid when Blake wasn't strong enough to do so, she could finally pass the torch of motherhood.
"I'm feeling okay," she answered truthfully, "But I'm nervous."
"A scared nervous, or an, I'm ready, nervous?"
"Both."
Emiko's cheekbones lifted, imitating one of those honey-smooth smiles of hers.
"C'mon," she grabbed her hand, "Let's go meet your baby."
